


i'm not a riddle wrapped in a mystery, i'm you wrapped in blood

by kwritten



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7258183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwritten/pseuds/kwritten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for the prompt:<br/><i>athena chainsmokes in an alleyway,</i><br/>waits for a boy with dark eyes and a mouth like sin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm not a riddle wrapped in a mystery, i'm you wrapped in blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionheartedgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionheartedgirl/gifts).



_Ask her,_ the boy with dark hair jerks his chin at her, as if she isn't invisible sitting on the top of the stairs with her skinned knees drinking them all in (they give her strength, the way they rise and fall and break and bleed, but she doesn't know that yet), _She could make anyone fall in love with her._  
  
  
She asks her mother for ice cream and they all get some. She is lactose intolerant. She knows this, her mother forgets, the cook forgets, her father sometimes remembers, her brother doesn't know. She gives the dark-haired boy her ice cream and likes the way it sticks to his lips.  
  
She is nine.  
  
  
  
  
  
She imagines that she is frozen and the only way to wake her is to be kissed upon every square inch of her body. It stills her. This is the only way she can fall asleep.  
  
He's the one kissing her skin, inch by inch.  
  
In her mind he tastes like ice cream. In her mind _she_ tastes like ice cream.  
  
She is nine and there is a truth that invades her every waking moment - whatever is on his lips will seep into her skin and make her new. She cannot explain this to anyone.  
  
She wouldn't want to anyway.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
They fight.  
  
She is thirteen.  
  
She watches them fight and when she wipes the blood off of his lips she thinks, _am I blood, now? is there any skin upon my bones? will I disappear into a puddle at your feet?_  
  
She thinks maybe he could drink her all up if she did, take all that blood in his palms and bring her into himself.  
  
She thinks maybe that's how they've always been.  
  
He pats her on the head and walks away.  
  
  
  
  
  
She only trips over her heels when she is sober.  
  
She is seventeen.  
  
He scolds her like a brother and holds her elbow like a lover.  
  
She thinks maybe he thinks she is drunk.  
  
His hand is warm and it warms her skin and she sees herself explode in a burst of flame. Will he be impervious to her heat? Will he walk away as cool and collected as ever?  
  
He drives her home and lectures her softly.  
  
She wonders what he would do if she pressed her fingers against his lips and took all of his words onto his skin like a tattoo. The words _Oliver_ and _sister_ and _protect_ and _safe_ and _god damnit, Thea_ running in circles of black against her pale skin.  
  
Then, would the world see what she sees?

 

 

 

He closes his eyes when he comes.  
  
She is twenty.  
  
She should not know this.  
  
She wears a mask and teases him, he doesn't see her and yet he sees her. She doesn't watch but he's always there.  
  
She hates him.  
  
She imagines that she is moving, moving, moving, moving and only his fingers can make her stand still.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_I killed him,_ she says.  
  
He's staring down at their father with a mixture of dismay and desperation and relief.  
  
A Queen would arrest him, let the Law do what is Right.  
A Merlin drips their sword in blood and carries the burden of Vengeance upon thin shoulders.  
  
_I'm glad_ , he says.  
  
It's the strangest connection, it's the saddest sound. She feels her bones breaking like glass, cutting open her veins and organs.  
  
She kicks their father's disembodied head and it rolls across the ground. She is a cat bringing offerings to her master. She wants to scream and rant and beg for him to tell her WHAT HAPPENS NOW? but he just smiles softly and says, _You could make anyone fall in love with you_ and it sounds like a threat.  
  
  
  
  
  
They fight.  
  
She is twenty-three.  
  
She wants him to survive and so she hits a little too hard. He wants to prove he doesn't need her and so he hits a little too hard. They are covered in bruises, panting and sweating and growing angry.  
  
_I hate you,_ he says. _You aren't my sister._  
  
(She held his arm in a cocktail dress the night before. He kissed her cheek and introduced her as his sister. They shook hands with people that don't matter, but they have to pretend matter a lot. They smiled at people they hate and pretended it didn't hurt.)  
  
_You love me,_ she hisses, holding him close, her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms wrapped around his neck, his back pressing into her chest, her back pressing into the floor. _You need me to be your sister._  
  
He is strong, but he lets her hold him in place, her limbs around his chest, her bare skin a shivering mess beneath his hands.  
  
No one wins, no one taps out.  
  
That's not how this works.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He stares deep into her eyes when he comes.  
  
She is twenty-five.  
  
He's stopped feeling guilty and she's stopped fighting him for everything else.  
  
Okay, so he feels guilty.  
So his tongue can still perform magic.  
  
Okay, so she feels vindicated.  
So her skin still feels like a prayer against his.  
  
No one wins.  
No one gives up.  
  
That's not the Merlyn way.


End file.
